Fingertips
by AlFlowerrise
Summary: "So soft, Ciel. I want to go further. We can't stop now." — CielAlois. M.


AN: I will always love them. Oh, more importantly, this is a twoshot, where the lemon comes in the next chapter. :) This is more a text to set the pace. I don't own Black Butler or any of its characters, which is probably for the best, I have a sick mind.

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><p><strong>Fingertips.<strong>

"So soft, Ciel. I want to go further. We can't stop now." — CielAlois, M.

.

_Cat and mouse._

_He takes and you retreat._

_Until the roles change. _

_Back and forth. _

_._

Alois rolled his tongue around Ciel's fingers and touched the cold skin with the tip, spun around and moved straight, felt each curve, each line, each vein that existed beneath. Carefully, he opened his mouth and let the fingers slid in, sucked mildly, pulled with caution, keep it safe, keep it _sane_—everything was different now. Soon, normality would return and turn the tide, but now, it was only this. His tongue glided onwards to the pinky finger, run down the slide over the palm and crawled down the wrist. After all this, he released and let Ciel's hand fall softly to the mattress.

Only that. Not more. Kept it there. Alois' tongue fetish had done what it should and awaiting Ciel's actions was a way to see where he was in this. Close or far.

Or nowhere at all.

To his grand surprise, though, Ciel caught his hand again, held the fingers tightly locked, wired, managed to keep the bond intact. It was Ciel, which was reason enough to pull off a celebration party lasting for five years. Ciel, who otherwise chose to pull down the curtain. Ciel, who had issues caring deeply about others than himself. Ciel, who usually talked with his brain and not his heart showed something else. Not much, but it was there. Something far more clear and pure and _real _to be understandable. Alois was not used to this.

Soon, it would be over. Soon, Alois had to pull the leash to gain what he wanted from this.

That did not mean he didn't appreciate the change.

"What is this, Ciel?" Alois asked, rather gently, dropping his original dominance in the pond.

It took a while for the answer to make a halt in Alois' ears. "I don't know."

Alois was quiet. Yes, he could be quiet. There was nothing more to say. Ciel didn't know and how would he? It was not his department. To feel was something else, something that you couldn't find in books, not the individual emotions stored deeply in you. The different made Ciel vulnerable—it brought forward something in him recalling what he tried to keep in the dark. When vulnerability was a greedy customer, it often felt easier to open up than to tumble in foreign territory alone.

This would change, though. Of course. Ciel had a stick through his ass, he was controlled like a doll, not by others in fact—by himself.

Alois had to work while the iron was hot.

Instead of trying to pulling the strings of his complex net closer to comprehension, he chose to throw himself forward, over messy sheets and a little mountain of silky pillows, against Ciel. Hands dug in blue-streaked locks, hold them still, kept the head in position for easier access to kiss. He opened his mouth and captured Ciel's thin lips within his own, kissed harshly and with passion, akin with his own feelings, almost fragile, naked and coarse, like this whole mess was. It was undemanding and wrong—it made half.

Ciel kissed—actually _kissed_—back at much as he could. He placed his small hands in the concave shape of Alois' waist while his tongue tried to feel flesh, feel the essence, feel what was _him_, fully. Alois himself let one hand glide down to Ciel's neck where he traced circles with his thumb, inside the collar of the white shirt. The other arm he used to keep Ciel there. Close. Close and captured, to reach farther in. Touch the soft part without any walls.

It was like holding into something. Alois didn't really know what. He didn't care either. He only cared about that he felt simply two things for Ciel—fascination and jealously. Alois was far from selfless person, he had his reasons for this. Maybe Ciel crawled in from a corner somewhere, but in general—this was mostly for Alois himself.

That was what he could see, anyway.

Ciel understood this. It was Ciel who started to tumble apart. Almost melt after the shape, spreading out and losing the original form. It was Ciel, he who made a mental pact to escape from these petty, petty, petty feelings—it was he all this time. He thought it was different. Alois _made _him think it was different. It was for the blond's winning, it was winning over him.

How could he say stop? How could he know where he wanted this to lead? How could he know what made him see Alois this way? Questions spun around in circles and led him nowhere at all. The answers where hidden in deep space, probably, unreachable for him.

"I like this change," Alois said after a while, playfully toying with Ciel's hair, spinning it like silk around the pointy finger, mouth so close the breath spread over Ciel's feature in a rapid pace. "I don't need to know what changed it. The only important thing now is what we can do with this."

"We?" Ciel spat out, but the word held no poison, Alois' vaccine was all over the place for the sarcasm to stay sharp—it crumpled and fell like cards. "It's only you. Always you. I—"

"Too late," Alois teased. "The ball is in the goal already. Can't save it."

Silence. Then a hesitantly; "what do you want us to do, then?"

As if the answer held contentment to him. "I want you all over me, Ciel."

The thought was displeasing, mostly because Ciel could see himself find benefits from it. "I don't want that."

"Oh, you do." Manipulative. "And I know how we should do that. Listen to this; get your cute little ass from the bed and follow me to the bathroom."

"...What? No!"

"Yes." A grin. "Follow me."

.


End file.
